


To be Human

by Cypherr



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: He was never supposed to see the end. Slayer always imagined himself dying in battle, surrounded by Hell's terrifying forces. He was lost. He had forgotten long ago how to be human. But maybe, just maybe, he could learn how.Samuel Hayden had been better than human for so long, he no longer felt much besides cold indifference and a thirst for knowledge. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome, or maybe something more, but maybe Hayden is more human than he thought he was.~~~TLDR, Doom Slayer asks Hayden to teach him how to be human, and they learn together, falling in love little by little along the way.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Samuel Hayden
Comments: 6
Kudos: 137





	1. the end and the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I'd find myself writing a doom fanfic of all things, but these two wouldn't leave me alone, so, here we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was over, and yet, Slayer had no idea what that meant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of the rewrite, just wanted to post some of the chapters I have done 
> 
> on another note, I have two new fics up! they aren't Doom related, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd check them out. One's an Anthem fic, and the other's a DreamSMP fic.
> 
> hope you enjoy the rewrite, because I know I'm much happier with it

It was all over. He had seen it, caused it even, joined in on the celebrations. Had watched as ARC laughed and cried, as the UAC issued formal apologies and brainwashed employees sagged in relief with the confirmation that it was finally over. He watched as they began cleanup efforts and put together teams to combat what remained of Hell’s influence.

Hell was gone. The Khan Makyr was out of commission. He should be just as overjoyed as the humans. Trying to muster up even a spark of joy, however, was akin to scraping the bottom of a barrel- it just wasn’t there. The Slayer felt something, he knew that much at least. What that feeling was, though, well that escaped him. He hadn’t felt anything besides adrenaline and bloodlust for so long that he couldn’t name the emotion if he tried. Perhaps VEGA could; VEGA had always been so good at processing and categorizing he wouldn’t have had to give a second thought to it. But VEGA was- VEGA was gone. Stuck in Urdak.

Slayer, despite what he knew he should be feeling, couldn’t quite comprehend the magnitude of what he had accomplished. He reached his ultimate goal, achieved what had become his _identity_. But, therein lied the root of the problem as well. He was the Doom Slayer, and now, there was no doom to slay. The leftover hordes didn’t count, not really. There was an end to there; there were no more gateways that let the flow of Hellspawn never cease. If he had to choose a word, Slayer would say he felt lost. Although, it seemed like an understatement compared to the gnawing, dark feeling that crawled up his throat and clung to his chest like some kind of parasitic slime.

He had become so used to VEGA being ever-present, that his disappearance made it all seem like a dream- some kind of fucked up fantasy he wished desperately he could wake up from. VEGA had sacrificed himself, stayed in Urdak, so that Slayer would have a chance to defeat the Icon of Sin. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, too caught up in the moment- in the rush of adrenaline of a plan gone wrong and a fight to be had- but now, the silence hurt. A vital part of himself was missing, because that’s what VEGA had become. VEGA was his everything, even if he didn’t realize it at the time. The time he had taken the AI for granted. It stung so much more now that he knew that he never really got to say goodbye. He hopped through the gate and that was it. It stung in a way that made his ribs ache and belly queasy; it made his heady foggy and numb. He knew he wasn’t supposed to become attached to anything while he had his mission- attachments were just distractions in the end (he refused to become attached to anything after Daisy). He never had to worry about VEGA being hurt, or killed, because VEGA wasn’t made up of flesh and blood. Slayer never even considered that VEGA would just… not be there one day. The reality was crushing, and he nearly found himself wishing that he had stayed with VEGA, consequences be damned, instead of going off to fight the Icon. (Earth was already pretty much destroyed, what did it matter if it was, in the end? It’s not like it was the only earth around… No, he can’t think like that. Refuses to let himself go down that path.)

He knew he sounded like a broken record, but he had trapped himself in an endless loop of what if’s and existential misery.

Too caught up in his own head to realize the ramifications of where he was, Slayer plunked himself down on the floor, leaning up against a console as he so often did.

“What brings you here, Slayer?” Hayden’s deep voice echoing through the comms system shocked him out of his mental entrapment.

“I,” he paused the clear his throat. It was rough from disuse and grating on his ears. He’d heard more pleasant sounds from a dying arachnotron. “Don’t know,” he concluded weakly. Really, he had no idea how he ended up here, on the floor, sitting up against the console that suspended Hayden’s mangled body. He had spaced out during what he adamantly refused to call a breakdown (even if that’s what it ultimately was- the beginnings of one anyway.)

“How _astute_ ,” Hayden drawled, voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“Can,” he hacked, throat dry and still unusable. “See… hands?” he managed to croak out eventually in broken English he hoped got his point across. (He had learned ASL ages ago in order to communicate with the humans because not only was his voice damaged beyond repair in an event he will not think about, English wasn’t his best language anymore. He had spoken the language of the sentinels for so long…) One of Hayden’s signature dramatic (and completely unnecessary) sighs rumbled through the comms.

“Yes, Slayer, I can see your hands.”

What was it, he hesitated, hands freezing while he pondered what it was he actually wanted to say. (or, well, sign.)  What was it like to be human?  Because, really, when was the last time he had been anything more than a machine- no offense to Hayden. He had had a mission he did the impossible to complete, and that was who he _was_. He was met with startling silence. Hayden was usually quick to reply, even if it was merely a degrading quip.

“I’ve been better than human for a long time, Slayer, and psychology is not in my area of expertise, loathe as I am to admit it. I cannot explain the intricacies of the human mind, body, and spirit to you.” His tone was unusually curt.

Would it even matter? I am not mortal anyway.  It was more of a rhetorical question than one he expected an answer for, but Hayden found it in himself to reply. (It was likely because he had to get the last word in, no matter the situation. His ego was too big not to. Slayer, on rare occasions, allows himself to think that Hayden’s ego is bigger than the Khan Makyr’s was.)

“I do not know, Slayer.” Okay, cross ego off the list because that _definitely_ wasn’t it. That must have actually physically pained Hayden to admit he didn’t know something. Well, Slayer guessed there was a first time for everything.

It is just,  he paused once again, waiting for a coherent thought to form.  Hell is gone. 

“Wonderful observation, Slayer. Would you like an award? Perhaps a trophy? A certificate? To document this crowning achievement?” Ah. There was the classic Hayden he knew.

Okay dick bag, you know what I meant  , he signed, toeing the line from annoyance and vague amusement into genuine frustration. There is no one for me to fight now. I have no goal.

“Is that not the desired outcome of _having_ a goal? Do we need to go over what it means?” By the Makyrs, Slayer wanted to deck Hayden, to just punt the fucker across the ship.

It is a wonder you ever passed for human . 

“I’m simply superior.” His voice may have been monotonous, but Khan was it _infuriating_ . One would think the lack of tonal chance would result in a rather flat conversation, but somehow Hayden managed to sound so Makyrs damned smug and condescending without even _trying_.

Well, I am sorry for bothering you, O Great One,  he signed slowly, punctuating the statement with an eye roll, even if Hayden couldn’t see it. (He felt better for it. He may not have been able to chuck the bastard into space, but he _could_ mock him. It’s the small things.) He made to get up, to return to, well, _something_.

“Where are you headed, Slayer?”

You going to get lonely without me? 

“It was merely a _question_ , Slayer.” His drawl sounded strained. Guess he hit a nerve.

I am going to find something to do, if you must know. 

“Would you,” Hayden fell silent. _The_ Samuel Hayden hesitated. Today was just full of firsts. “Would you like to help me design a new vessel?”

What, you can’t do it yourself? Oh, he wanted to help, if only to relieve his boredom and give him something besides his new reality and the awful memories revisiting his past brought up to think about.

“Answer the damn question.”

I’d be honored, and he couldn’t help himself, he ended the sentence with a dramatic flourish towards Hayden’s suspended mech.

“Now who’s the ‘dickbag’?” Slayer grinned. He’d consider this conversation a win.


	2. insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayden was going to die early, and it would be all Slayer's fucking fault

“We are not adding  _ weapons _ , Slayer.” Hayden’s tone was curt with barely restrained frustration leaking through.

You might need them, and really, Slayer reasoned, one never knew when they would need a gun. (It’s why he always kept a shotgun close at hand. One truly never knew what situation would arise.) And sure, Hayden would probably never need any sort of weapon (because let’s face it, his words alone damaged enough) considering his ridiculous height and the fact that he was, as he put it’ ‘simply superior’, but honestly Slayer was just pressing the issue because watching Hayden slowly lose his mind was the most entertaining thing to happen in ages.

~

Hayden was going to die an early death, and it would be because of the man sat across from him, radiating smug superiority like it was a fucking perfume. Slayer may have thought that he hadn’t picked up on his scheme, but Hayden wasn’t imbecilic; a toddler could see that the man was enjoying himself  _ far _ too much. If he had the ability, he would be ripping chunks of hair out of his scalp. As it stood, however, he was a disembodied conscience within the Fortress’ mainframe. There was also the fact that his body, when he had one, was distinctly non-human and made out of metal.

Hayden may be on to the Slayer, but it didn’t mean that his plans weren’t working which frustrated him to no end. If this lunacy didn’t end soon, he was going to lose it.

“Fine, Slayer. I will add  _ one _ firearm. Will that satisfy your unearthly craving for violence?” He knew he sounded venomous, but did Slayer have to look so damn  _ happy _ about it? He wished he could shove that ridiculous helmet back on his head just so he wouldn’t have to see that stupid fucking smile.


	3. imperfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had it back, but it still needed work

It felt _odd_ to be in control of a body- his body- again. It wasn’t like it was a new sensation, but he had hardly been alive, and then he had had to upload himself into the Slayer’s fortress, so, suffice to say, it had been a while since he had inhabited a vessel he could move and control freely.

He was now more _human_ as well- at least in looks, that is. There were less sharp edges and exposed joints. Of course, these design choices are accredited to the Slayer, as he himself would never give up the intimidation factor of being distinctly inhuman. Why would he ever choose smooth plating and soft silicone? To look more human? He was never human to begin with, but he guessed it mattered not. He had a body, and he still had his height.

There were certain tweaks he needed to make, now that he inhabited it. The joints were too stiff and everything seemed slightly delayed. (It wasn't enough to matter, perhaps not even enough for a human to notice, but he felt every fraction of a second it took for his body to respond to his input and anything less than perfection was unacceptable.) He heard Slayer clear his throat from across the platform, leaning haphazardly against the transmission screen.

How does it feel?  Slayer signed, posture still relaxed and casual which was something- despite the weeks they had now spent together free of Hell’s influence- that he was still not used to.

“Imperfect.” It was short and to the point. There was no need for a long-winded explanation he’s sure the man wouldn’t understand anyway. Slayer snorted, a small smile gracing his marred face. (Yet another imperfection arose at the sight. There appeared to be a brief hiccup in his processors. Were they not capable of correctly processing perceived human emotion? He’d have to look into it later.)

Hayden, despite his personal opinions, knew the proper human customs of gaining and receiving help. He sighed.

“Thank you, Slayer, for your assistance on this endeavor. It is… appreciated.” Sure, he only asked the man in the first place because if he had to watch him pace around the fortress one more fucking time he was going to delete himself, but customs were customs. (And yes, there was _definitely_ an issue with his processors. They had lapsed again at the Slayer’s shit-eating grin. He’d need to find why they were acting up; he thought he had designed them correctly, after all. His originals worked perfectly. The idea that perhaps it wasn’t a physical issue, but one that lay deep within the metaphysical heart never even crossed his mind.)


	4. thanks, i guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He appreciates the sentiment, but he still has no idea what the hell it is

Slayer had been called back down to Earth by an ARC base somewhere in Central America. It had been months, now, since the Icon had been defeated, and leftover hordes tended to be only a handful of demons, noting that human personnel couldn’t handle. A major horde had been spotted near one of their medical encampments, however, and the fact that there were heavies concerned them. He was tasked with investigating the area and eliminating the threat. It was a simple mission, and nothing of note really occurred. He had gotten a bit careless at one point, and a cacodemon managed to get a good grip on his arm, but it was no serious matter; only some minor acid burns on his exposed flesh and a few teeth shaped divots in his suit he’d have a hell of a time fixing later. The most damaging thing was Hayden’s sigh of disappointment that he could  _ already _ imagine. Slayer would never understand how Hayden managed to convey such potent annoyance with a single  _ look. _ It both baffled and terrified him. (The man had no facial features! He was well within his right to be put off by it.)

He had returned to the base he had originally been called to in order to report his mission’s success. It was curt and overly formal, but it was a necessity, no matter how uncomfortable it was. They told him that they, or any other human encampments would contact him in the future if he was needed, and that was that. It was just routine. On his way out of HQ, however, that he was stopped by the scrawniest human being he ever had the pleasure of meeting. His mop of curly, jet black hair stuck out every which way, held out of his eyes by the thick frames of his glasses. He was, from what Slayer could scrounge up from his limited memory, your stereotypical nerdy scientist.

The man had had the balls to run up to him as he was passing through their lab on his way out and handed him a very peculiar object. (What it was, he was unsure. He’d have to ask Hayden or consult the archives VEGA had left. They were in sentinel... right? He hoped they were- he couldn't understand the common tongue well.)

“Er, sorry Mr. Doom Slayer, sir! I- uh, um, I wanted to, ya know, thank you for what you’ve done for me- for all of us! It’s well, it’s not much, Mr. Slayer, sir, but it was my son’s favorite record. I thought, well, I’m not sure what I thought, but maybe it could keep you company or something, I don’t know.” It was rushed and hardly comprehensible, but the man looked terrified out of his wits, so he didn’t blame him. In a second, the small man’s expression shifted from some sort of terror fueled excitement to horror.

“Oh Gods, I’m so sorry for taking your time Mr. Doom sir, I didn’t mean to ramble!” but before the man could run off, he managed to ruffle the kid’s hair, hoping he didn’t scare the man further. 

“Thanks, kid,” crackled out of his rarely used comms. It was rough, as it was every time he attempted to speak, but he had no idea if ASL was common knowledge.

If he had stuck around for just a minute longer, he would have seen the kid faint. Instead, Slayer made his way out of the building, wondering just what in the nine circles of Hell a record was.

~

After Slayer tumbled through the gate and back into the fortress, he tracked down Hayden, which, admittedly, wasn’t difficult to do. The man was only ever in one of four places. This time, he could be found in an office not unlike the one he had set up in his own room (which, he didn’t care  _ what _ Hayden said, his room was  _ cool _ and comics were  _ not _ childish.). He was fiddling with something that could be anything from part of the ship to something Hayden has absolutely no use for, like a  _ bomb _ . (Seriously, he had no clue what he would need any kind of explosive for. He never left the ship. Which would also explain the very out-of-character hobby of  _ baking _ that he had picked up. Maybe Hayden was going stir-crazy. He should get out more.)

Slayer rapped his still armored knuckles on the edge of the doorframe, knowing better than to startle Hayen when he was focused (he had been on the receiving end of that more times than he’d care to admit. It never ended well for either party, as they were both too prideful and stubborn to back down.) Hayden turned, his optical sensor’s blue glow now facing him. He  _ swears _ that he was raising an eyebrow he didn’t have. His expressionless expressions baffled him.

Seeing that his presence was acknowledged, he made his way over to the desk Hayden was sitting at, plonking himself on the floor next to the chair, armor clanking loudly against the cool metal. He presented the record- _thing_ to the man now looking down on him, having completely abandoned what he had been working on (which, upon second glance, looked like the last explosive he had rigged. Perhaps Hayden had a death wish, or it was a silent threat to the Slayer. It was probably best not to dwell on it. He knew he wouldn’t like the answers.) He assumed his inquiry was obvious, but apparently, the so-called genius did not pick up on it.

“And what do you want me to do with this, Slayer?” Did he  _ have _ to sound like such a dick? Would it kill the man to be a decent fucking person for once in his life? You know what, it probably would, knowing Hayden. Setting the record down on the floor to free his hands up, he signed quickly, utterly annoyed.

What is it? And Khan bless his soul, Hayden looked utterly taken aback.

“You’ve never seen a  _ record _ before?” Slayer glowered up at Hayden from under his helmet. 

It’s not like I remember much from my first stay on Mars, let alone  before .

“Ah, my apologies, Slayer. I guess they don’t have any other music besides the screams of the damned in Hell.” Condescending  _ bastard _ . There was a lapse in the conversation after this, as Hayden attempted half-heartedly to return to his project. Slayer was having none of it, though. He came here on a mission and by the Makyrs he was going to complete it. He sat, staring, for who knows how long, taking twisted pleasure in watching Hayden slowly lose his composure. Eventually, with a frustrated and overdramatic sigh, Hayden set down (rather forcefully considering its fragile nature) his project.

“I’m sure I could configure a record player into the Fortress’ systems. Will that satisfy you? Will you leave me the hell alone now?” Slayer couldn’t stop his grin if he tried. With that, Hayden groaned, slamming his head down onto the desk. He heard a muffled “Father help me,” before he composed himself again and looked back down at him.

“Don’t think I don’t see your wounds, Slayer.”  _ Damn it _ (and  _ no _ he wasn’t pouting. He didn’t  _ pout _ .)


	5. safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slayer was too caught up in the past for his own good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's yet another chapter rewrite! I think this one ended up shorter than the original, but oh well, I'm much happier with it. I just felt like in the original they were too OOC and I want to spend more time developing their relationships. And while I do enjoy OOC fanfiction, I just felt like it wasn't what I wanted to write for this one  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter

Hayden had been whipping some lemon meringue together when a red alert popped up on the screen next to him. There was damage to the fortress in the right-wing of the ship, nearer to Slayer’s quarters. He sighed, setting his whisk and mixing bowl down. (and really, when did he pick up this baking habit? It was unbecoming of him,  _ the _ Samuel Hayden. He really was losing his mind, wasn’t he?) Slayer must have been in another one of his  _ moods _ . Granted, he knew they stemmed from deep, psychological traumas (most of which he probably  _ caused _ ) but they were still a hassle he would rather not have to deal with. Slayer became unpredictable, and, like the alert had shown, violent and destructive.

Making his way towards where the alert had pinged, it looked like a mob had ransacked the place. To be fair though, Slayer  _ was _ a one-man army. Metal was carved through and bullet holes riddled the walls. There were even torn pages, either from the archives or his, quite frankly, ridiculous comic book collection. Eventually, he found the man. He had stuffed himself in a corner, armor half on, head shoved in his knees, and shaking like a leaf. Seeing the normally invincible man in such a state sent a strange feeling through him. (pity, perhaps? No, that wasn't right. It didn’t really matter anyway.) 

Hayden squatted down in front of the Slayer, hoping he didn’t lash out like last time. (It was unexpected, and he didn’t react in time because of it, leading to a week-long repair of his chest and all the mechanics inside. The fact that it was with his bare fist made it all the more impressive.)

“Slayer? Can you hear me?” He kept his voice low and even, trying not to startle the man too bad, as he knew the consequences that brought. His head sprung up, eyes blown wide and breaths too shallow to be doing much good.

“Ha- Hay?” It took a minute to respond, but eventually, he could see clarity in Slayer’s eyes. The nickname was  _ certainly _ new.

“Yes, Slayer. We are in the Fortress of Doom at the moment. Do you know where that is?” They were ridiculous questions, but it had to be done. A half-aware Slayer was worse than him being completely unaware- he had more of a penchant for destruction. His brow furrowed for a second, pulling the scars on his face inward, making them seem all the more prominent.

“VEGA?” Of  _ course _ he would fucking ask about that damned stolen creation of his.

“VEGA is gone, Slayer.” He tried to keep his voice level, but Father be damned, it was  _ always _ VEGA this or VEGA that.

“Where?” His breathing became frantic, eyes glistening with unshed tears and memories long past.

“In Urdak, Slayer. Remember? He’s gone.” He seemed to retreat further into himself at that, curling forward, hands now gripping his hair so tight his knuckles were white.

“We’re not  _ allowed _ .” Hayden could not make heads nor tails of what that was supposed to mean.

“Not allowed to do what, Slayer?” Perhaps getting him to speak of his memories would help bring him back to the present.

“Only- only Makyrs are allowed in Urdak.” His voice was so quiet, Hayden had to strain to hear him. He wondered why he was now so much farther back in his memories than he was a moment ago. It baffled him, and he wished, for once, that he knew more on the subject.

“The Makyrs are gone now. You’re safe.” Perhaps the man needed assurance? He loathed not knowing the solution.

“S-safe?” That same peculiar pang shot through him when he heard the desperation in his tone.

“Yes, Slayer.  _ Safe. _ ” He just continued to stare up at him with those wide, shining, ocean blue eyes. Hayden held back an instinctual sigh, instead, held a hand out in front of Slayer. Tentatively, he put his ( _ much _ smaller) hand on top of his. Hayden gently curled his fingers around the trembling appendage.

“See, Slayer?  _ Safe _ .” The man nodded this time, seeming to be, for the most part, back in the present. Hayden hummed in approval. “Would you like to come sit in the kitchen with me? I’m making meringue.” This time, Slayer’s nod was near frantic. “Let’s go then, Slayer.”


	6. Heuwbwkq

Ancient gods part one was the fucking worst I'm going to scream that was AWFUL


End file.
